The Satires of Juvenal, Persius, Sulpicia and Lucilius

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Bohn, 1852 - 512 من الصفحات
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الصفحة 217 - Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil.
الصفحة 113 - ... prince himself is such another ; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois.
الصفحة 243 - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
الصفحة 110 - The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait : Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost : He comes : nor want nor cold his course delay.
الصفحة xiii - Atque alii quorum comoedia prisca virorum est, Si quis erat dignus describi quod malus ac fur, Quod moechus foret aut sicarius aut alioqui Famosus, multa cum libertate notabant. Hinc omnis pendet Lucilius, hosce secutus Mutatis tantum pedibus numerisque, facetus, Emunctae naris, durus componere versus.
الصفحة xviii - And, with a sly insinuating grace, Laugh'd at his friend, and look'd him in the face ; Would raise a blush where secret vice he found, And tickle while he gently probed the wound ; With seeming innocence the crowd beguiled, But made the desperate passes when he smiled.
الصفحة 236 - Peras imposuit Jupiter nobis duas : Propriis repletam vitiis post tergum dedit, Alienis ante pectus suspendit gravem. Наc re videre nostra mala non possumus ; Alii simul delinquunt, censores sumus.
الصفحة 171 - Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?
الصفحة 251 - Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness...
الصفحة 380 - A flattering, cringing, treacherous, artful race, Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face; A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call, Which shifts to every form, and shines in all: Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician, Rope-dancer, conjurer, fiddler, and physician, All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts; And bid him mount the sky, — the sky he mounts!

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